


All Around

by yearofjohnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Beginnings, Boys In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 00:57:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7293004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yearofjohnlock/pseuds/yearofjohnlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Right now this was what their love looked like.<br/>Things began as hints, subtle, slow. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Around

When John saved Sherlock it was not a particular moment. It was slow and overtaking. When Sherlock saved John’s life, it was, in fact, one moment. Immediate. Meeting an extraordinary man who cracked his life open, able to see how extraordinary he was as well. Finally both their hearts climbed back into their ribcages after being smoked out. As Sherlock does in his detective work, he breathed meaning into the life of a man who did not know his worth. All the same, John never stopped being a doctor after leaving the war. He is always saving Sherlock in life, healing him, until one day when he will not need saving.

Being saved has taught them many things, not the least of which is that life can be lived long. It will feel fast. It certainly will. But they chose to live as they do. John and Sherlock chose to be flatmates again, to once again wake up every morning checking the flat for signs of the other. Waiting for the floorboards to creak as their own special “good morning.” In many ways, they aren’t waiting for anything. But right now this was what their love looked like.

Things began as hints, subtle, slow. Sherlock started to let John know where he was leaving for at midnight. John would begin to brush his teeth as he knew Sherlock was halfway through. Their collective dental hygiene improved from the added moments of care. Sherlock, as always, would nap on the couch though his room was just a walk past the kitchen. He likes the feeling of John’s eyes on him and he sleeps better hearing his flatmate’s rustling. They swap white rice for fried rice from takeaway, knock on doors before walking in, and, on one occasion, traded coats at a crime scene as John’s was soaked through from the rain. Because Sherlock always was in the habit of hovering over John as he typed up cases in his familiar chair, it almost went unnoticed that this time he dared to lean into the heat of John’s cheek.

Neither men were very sexual at his age, but both loved adrenaline and they chased it in whatever source. Often through the dark, sometimes through the light. There was enough adrenaline in their daring kind of love. Every touch felt like solving a case, the heart thumps quite a bit like running after a criminal.

As he hovers over him, Sherlock’s cheek brushes against john’s lightly and John slowly and almost undetectably leans into it. They are both so careful, now. If they’re imagining this, the next move is make or break. When he does build up a trembling courage to turn his head 8 degrees to ghost his lips on John’s cheek, Sherlock immediately, loudly, and swiftly retreats to the kitch- (no, too open) – bedroo (no.) – bathroom to collect himself.

John stares at the window frame. Unsure. Unsure. His heart is thumping, always willing his fight or flight into a strong fighting pulse and now he rises to his feet, swinging his arms to follow Sherlock as if they were on a case and he had run ahead (again).

As he arrives at the bathroom door, he panics. Sherlock spins on his heel to face John. Both men slip into their forced comfortable voices though both of them were terrified of rejection – or the truth? So, quickly John grabs for his towel from the door handle and stutters out,

“Oh , I thought I’d have a shower, but if you’re busy in here...”

"Well actually I was going to have a bath.”

“Right.” John pursed his lips. “Right. Ocupado…” He winces at his own uncharacteristic and cheezy speech.

“Yes.” Sherlock hung his bottom lip open, preparing for this uncomfortable encounter to finally be over.

“Well, I mean, you still have your coat and scarf.” John stepped forward with fake nonchalance. He needs a reason to get close, if only just to touch him. Maybe his fingertips would communicate what he couldn’t say. “I’ll just take those out to the hanger.”

Sherlock reached up to remove his scarf only to bump knuckles with John, who reached over to do the same. He was crowding his space, though still in a way that could be perceived as a welcome yet unusual flatmate gesture.

Nonetheless, both men were buzzing in heart and head.

John slowly unthreaded Sherlock’s typical elegant knot and spent a great deal of time unraveling the scarf around his head. When it was loose enough to drag off of him, John threw it over his right forearm as a waiter would wear it. This was somehow appropriate as he certainly was going _above and beyond_ his expected friendly duties. Sherlock’s eyes were glued to John’s, though John nervously focused his gaze entirely on his busy hands. He reached forward to push the man’s coat off of his shoulders and Sherlock at least half purposefully arched his back so that his chest puffed out closer to John while stretching his arms out of the coat sleeves. John’s head bumped against his shirt buttons.

He tried and failed to remain composed, or to keep up the charade of needing to remove the outerwear of his perfectly capable flatmate, who was likely already operating on the premise of a fictitious shower. They both started giggling, with John’s laugh always ringing out almost panting and Sherlock’s, more rare, loving and rich. But still, they were determined to keep up this known game.

John drops the coat and the scarf to the floor and points a nonspecific finger to Sherlock’s white collar shirt, “You’ll of course want to…” and Sherlock nods, losing his smile a bit.

Both men fade from their laughter in a very sobering silence except for John’s very. Very. slow fidgeting with Sherlock’s shirt. Fingers on fabric and cold buttons. He is only three buttons down when he pauses to finally test eye contact with Sherlock. The other man’s gentle and searching eyes light a fire in his torso. He - for a moment - wonders if he has heartburn or if he swallowed a seltzer tablet dry.

They are still. His hands are still. They keep the eye contact, both with the vulnerability of a deer spotted by a hunter. Caught.

And then again, even slower now, John starts on Sherlock’s buttons again.

John, feigning his own _feigned_ indifference, and Sherlock gaining his smile back. The detective puts his hand up on the wall, his arm making a shadow over John’s face. He leans against the wall over him for a physical support he doesn’t need.

John is breathing through his nose as he might after a run.

 

Shockingly, it was Sherlock who pressed his forehead down to John’s, who –this time– certainly pressed into it. And after one heartbeat each, John throws his hands around Sherlock and Sherlock does the same around John, while pressing him against the cramped bathroom’s wall.

They each exhale loudly and vocally into the kiss and it’s active and so long awaited.

John, naturally, and, well, Sherlock, too, will need to swallow this afternoon before any further developments. But they have so much. So much time.

They want this. They each know that. That’s enough for a start and a finish. They have it all.

“Well, I’ve a blog entry to finish”

Sherlock is left standing in the bathroom with his shirt remarkably only five buttons open. He purses his lips and presses his steepled hands to them for a second, then nods to himself, begins buttoning his shirt as he goes and sits across from John, his favorite place in the world.

They meet each other with their eyes, which speak loudly over years of sadness, what they did to and for each other (often the same), and all of their fears. Their eyes sing. Their eyes yell. The room is buzzing. And it always will. It always will.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading! Follow me by the same name (@yearofjohnlock) on tumblr. :)


End file.
